on the other side is hope
by cyanoscarlet
Summary: Victor, before and after Yuuri's death.


" _Tadaima_ , Yuuri!" Victor announces himself cheerfully as he enters their room. It's funny how the familiar Japanese phrase still does not roll off his tongue quite right despite years of use.

Yuuri looks up from the book he's reading. More than two weeks have passed, but he is still only halfway through. "Sitting up for long hours no longer agrees with me," he had once said. The dark circles under his eyes seem to get worse despite spending almost the entire day sleeping.

It breaks Victor's heart every time.

" _Okaeri_ , Viten'ka," Yuuri returns the greeting in kind. He manages a smile, at least. He always tries his best, the way only _he_ can do. It's been so long; Victor should know - they know each other the best, after all.

.

 _Phichit and Yurio are the first to arrive at the hospital. The former practically bursts his way through the room, as if getting there even a second earlier would change everything._

 _Victor watches the gray skies from the window. He barely registers anything - not the somber mood, not the comforting words, not his friends' tears._

 _Of course, it changes nothing. Just like how he feels now._

Nothing _._

.

Yuuri has always been the one to reassure Victor, even when he did no better himself.

It was in the small trick with the crumpled tissue paper. It was in the decision to do the Rostelecom free skate alone. It was in the complete confidence and pride with which he gave the performance of his life. It is in their most intimate moments, those loving eyes full of trust as he says _yes - yes, he wants this._

And it is in his brave, unfaltering smile, now, as he accepts everything and prepares to let go.

Victor doesn't. He fights, he pleads, he _begs_ with so much tears streaming down his face to _please don't do this to me! You can't go! I love you so much, and -_

He is enveloped in a bone-crushing hug, in unusually strong arms that should have been weakened by months of illness and disuse. Victor tenses as he feels Yuuri's actions betray his words.

" _Please_ , Victor. It's enough."

 _It's okay. I'm happy,_ he supplies Yuuri's unsaid words in his mind as hot tears stain his shirt.

.

 _It is all too surreal, Victor thinks. There are too many flowers, too many candles, too many people in black - formal, subdued,_ crying _._

 _He almost trips over his formal_ hakama _, also black. The smell of burning incense is nauseating._

 _Chris - he_ thinks _it's Chris - leads him out of the room. The black suit looks absolutely terrible on him._

 _Victor has never hated a single color this much in his life._

.

They go out on one of Yuuri's better days. Victor excitedly points out to various things as he pushes the wheelchair along the park. Everything seems more beautiful, more lively, more colorful than ever.

Yuuri knows he's exaggerating. Points it out, even, like he always does whenever his insufferable grown-child-of-a-husband is being ridiculous.

It's like the old days, really, if he thinks about it - if he _wills_ it hard enough. Some days, it works. Hopefully, today can be one of them.

The illusion holds throughout the day, over a barely-filling meal and a bouquet of false flowers, and as their golden rings reflect the red of the setting sun.

Yuuri kisses him tenderly, and as the bitter taste of medicine lingers on his lips, Victor lets himself _believe_.

.

 _It suddenly hits him all at once - in the_ restroom _, of all places._

 _One minute, he's adjusting his uncomfortable, black_ haori _before the mirror, and the next, he's curled up and trembling on the floor, big, violent sobs wracking every fiber of his being. All the pent-up feelings of grief and denial he'd held for the past three days - perhaps even longer than that - come down on him like a ton of bricks, and he is unable to think, unable to do anything, unable to shake off the horrible feelings of hurt and longing and despair that he refused to acknowledge until now._

 _Funny how he truly,_ finally _understands how Yuuri must have felt when he lost both poodle and podium in Sochi, after the man himself died._

 _Funnier thing is, he_ thinks _he does_ _._

 _Where does he even_ begin _?_

.

Moonlight filters through the window blinds as Victor sits by his husband's bedside, lazily drawing compulsory figures on the thin, white sheets. "It's a nice substitute for dancing on the ice," he says.

Yuuri laughs weakly, sharing in the joke. Even in his worn state, his brown eyes shine as bright as ever, like they always have. His gaunt finger joins Victor's on the soft fabric, tracing old programs from memory, adding jumps in the appropriate places.

Victor's finger stills as Yuuri's meets it halfway, as if asking for a dance. They move together in time with the music, and if he tries hard enough, he can hear it echo loudly - _Stammi vicino, non te ne andare._

It was a plea he'd made long ago, alone on a big expanse of ice. It was a plea answered, as they danced together on the same ice, promising to never let go.

And now...

"Promise me you'll live on," Yuuri whispers his own plea. "Live for yourself, and for all the people we love."

Victor nods, clasping both their hands together. He'll live a thousand lives more, if Yuuri wishes for it.

.

 _Victor spends the next few weeks at the Yu-topia inn, helping out with the work however he can. Though Yuuri's death has shattered them all, life goes on, and so must they._

 _The atmosphere is a lot more subdued, a far cry from the warmth and happiness he has always associated with the place. It is as if a great snowstorm had come and passed, leaving everything frozen in its wake._

 _Perhaps, it is only Victor's own heart that is frozen, numb from the hurt, unable to move on._

 _Everyone calls him at some point, some even more persistent than others. He exchanges empty pleasantries, gives noncommittal answers, says the same things over and over, as if his own beliefs will change in time if he just keeps at it._

 _He doesn't even_ know _anymore._

 _A month passes, and Victor is called by Hiroko-_ okaa-san _to Yuuri's old room._

 _They quietly sort through Yuuri's old belongings, some for Victor to take home, others to be given away. Some items evoke certain memories, and he finds himself in tears again._

 _Hiroko-_ okaa-san _isn't any better, either, but God bless her, she_ tries _._

Ah _, Victor realizes with a start, Yuuri's just like his mother._

 _"Vicchan," Hiroko-_ okaa-san _begins with a shaky voice, "I know how difficult this has all been. All this..." She starts to cry again, unable to continue. He opens his arms for an embrace._

 _"Thank you for loving our son," she goes on after a while. "For staying with him, for making him happy, up until his last moments." Victor nods. He, too, thanks all the gods for giving him Yuuri, for giving him a special ray of light when he was lost._

 _For giving him back life and love, and everything else._

 _He feels the ice in his heart gradually melt again. He has a life to live, and live it well he will._

.

Victor returns with a takeout from the downstairs cafeteria. He sets it down on the side table and starts talking about this funny thing that happened while he was waiting in line.

Yuuri doesn't answer.

The _katsudon_ remains uneaten, growing colder with each passing minute.

.

 _They run through the choreography over breakfast, with Kenjirou excitedly asking questions between mouthfuls of food. Victor stifles a laugh as the boy chokes, offering another glass of water._

 _After cleaning up and doing a final check of their luggage, the two stop by the row of framed photographs in the living room. Kenjirou puts his hands together before a picture of Yuuri, silently praying for luck and guidance for the upcoming competition. Behind him, Victor kisses his wedding ring, before letting his hand linger on Yuuri's own band, which he now wears as a pendant around his neck._

 _He imagines his husband lifting the ring and bringing it to his own lips._

 _'I will always watch over you, my Viten'ka,' he hears, quietly whispered in the air._

 _Victor smiles, contentment washing over him. "_ Ittekimasu _," he breathes out. "_ Ya lyublyu tebya _."_

 _'_ Itterashai _,' the response comes, completing the ritual. '_ Aishiteru _.'_

 _It's enough._


End file.
